He reached for my hand.
I stepped away.
“I love you,” he said.
“Then why did you let her do that yesterday?”
He wiped his face.
“Because I thought you’d finally say yes.”
For a second I couldn’t breathe.
He hadn’t been frightened that his mother would hurt me.
He’d been frightened she would ruin his chance to persuade me.
I put the photograph in my bag.
Then I left.
On my way out, I placed the gift certificate on the kitchen table.
Jake could return it to his mother.
At Maya’s apartment, I slept for hours.
When I woke, Jake had sent 11 messages.
The last said, “I don’t know how to fix this.”
I didn’t answer.
For a week, I kept thinking about all the small ways I’d tried to make his mother comfortable.
The sleeves.
The quieter clothes at dinners.
My silence whenever she made another joke.
I wasn’t ashamed of my natural hair.
